Fire it up. Fire it up.
When we finally turn it over,
make a beeline towards the border,
have a drink, you’ve had enough.

Fire it up. Fire it up.
If you need some conversation
bring a magazine to read
around our broke down transportation.

Fire it up.
Is there enough?

Fire it up. Fire it up.
When we find the perfect water,
we’ll hang out on the shore just,
just long enough to leave our clothes there.

Fine enough. Fine enough.
Oh we ate all of the oranges
off the navels of our lovers,
grabbed a book and read the cover.

It honestly was beautifully done.
like trying to hide the daylight from the sun.
Even if we had been sure enough
it’s true we really didn’t know.
Even if we knew which way to head,
but still we probably wouldn’t go.

Fire it up. Fire it up.
We push off we are rolling boulders,
crashing down the mirrored stairways.
Two of life’s best mine canaries.

Fire it up. Fire it up.
When we fix the carburetor,
then we’ll push off once again
in an hour or so later.

It honestly was beautifully bold.
Like trying to save an ice cube from the cold.
Even if we had been sure enough,
it’s true we really didn’t know.
Even if we knew which way to head,
but still we probably wouldn’t go.

It is quiet on the roof. Especially in a snowstorm. The roof is rarely occupied in winter. I had forgotten that the roof would collect such an amount of snow. Of course it would. There is often a disconnect to nature in the city; most hunkering down inside dreading the cold, instead of celebrating what is becoming, with global warming, a rarer occurence. Extinct snowflakes. What an idea. I create a Snow Buddha every year. This one connected with the sky and blessed the building which protects this fragile body.

Over the years I have been best friends with pets, plants, and the zafu. They always laugh at my jokes. Even loneliness became a friend. That was the final killing. I love Mara and Ananda equally – but drinking the rice milk offering for the temple- the best teacher of Reality and Dream.

I remember a woman I encountered in Bodh Gaya, India. She had a baby strapped to her body as she sold pots and pans. She started talking to me in Hindi and I couldn’t understand what she was saying. She pointed to the pots and then to her baby-girl, proceeding to become louder with hysteria as her eyes filled with desperation. I looked around for a translator-I didn’t know what to do. I could have bought a pot, I suppose. But at that moment, all I could think of was reaching out. I stroked her face, like she might do to her child. I looked into her eyes, she started to become calm. She was then quiet, looking back. Time kind of stood still. We smiled, bowed and I walked toward the temple.

I stand on a lake. The water is dark and calm. As the wind blows, ripples glitter in the sunlight. What I think are wisps of my hair fly into view; otherwise, there is no horizon, no land mass, and no boundary. Limitlessness. I have nowhere to go and nothing to do. I choose any direction and move toward it. My movement disturbs the surface only. I realize I am merely an abundance of water. It leaks from my eyes and rushes through my limbs. I am spinning in the wind. It is this form that glitters in the sunlight. A fluffy cylindrical mass forms at the periphery of my vision. Rolling towards me, it’s so soft looking, though like me, I know its core is empty, forceful, and seething with curiosity; this is a water tornado. Perhaps the wind brings us together. It doesn’t really matter. It is the only phenomena besides me on the lake. We greet one another. Spiraling simple phenomena. I feel great joy knowing there is another. My awareness suffers pain realizing, like myself, he will cease to be and disappear back into the lake. We, being the lake, become serene, glitter in the sunlight, and continue to flow through the darkness, called by the wind. What a refreshing moment.

Yogi Bhajan says:

“it was, it is, it could be, it should be. Whosoever wants to have happiness in life, put everything in these four bowls, and blend it up. You will never regret it.”

I live in this country now
I’m called by this name
I speak this language
It’s not quite the same
For no other reason
Than this it’s my home
And the places I used to be far from are gone

You’ve travelled this long
You just have to go on
Don’t even look back to see
How far you’ve come
Though your body is bending
Under the load
There is nowhere to stop
Anywhere on this road

My heart is breaking
I cannot sleep
I love a man
Who’s afraid of me
He believes if he doesn’t
Stand guard with a knife
I’ll make him my slave
For the rest of his life

I love this hour
When the tide is just turning
There will be an end
To the longing and yearning
If I can stand up
To angels and men
I’ll never get swallowed
In darkness again

You’ve travelled this long
You just have to go on
Don’t even look back to see
How far you’ve come
Though your body is bending
Under the load
There is nowhere to stop
Anywhere on this road

NGC 2207 and IC 2163 met and began a sort of gravitational tango about 40 million years ago. The two galaxies are tugging at each other, stimulating new stars to form. Eventually, this cosmic ball will come to an end, when the galaxies meld into one. The dancing duo is located 140 million light-years away in the Canis Major constellation.

each footstep is like wading through concrete. the air is solid invisible dust, baby powder in the lungs, breathing through silk. seeing strawberry jam in glass. sweet filling the mouth; strain through my teeth, hard seeds irritating. I love strawberries, though I do not eat them often. vibration in the atmosphere, challenge in the eyes, heart wound.

I just can’t seem to lift my foot from this place. staying, I am not what I think I am. I tremble from unknowing, a bird in a cage of my own making. let go and truly never know where it comes home.